Death Before Dishonor
by lady patronus
Summary: [a short fic.] The War has changed so many people... in more ways then one...


Death Before Dishonor

Draco kneeled at wand point on a dusty wooden floor in the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. The cold floor cut into his knees and he was only dressed in his pants, seeing as his shirt had been ripped apart by the cruciartus curse.

"Do you deny it?" it was a harsh voice, menacing, familiar.

"No," another crack and another red sear of pain appeared across his back.

"Do you deny it?" this time it was more forceful.

"No," and again, a red welt of pain, this time across his chest.

"DO YOU DENY IT!" it screamed at him.

And he built up his courage to say again, "no," he said it proudly, eyes flashing.

The figure knocked a chair to the ground in frustration, pouncing, right in his face.

"This is your only chance out of death, you know it is, why do you still resist?"

"Death before dishonor," he said, loud and clearly. 

The figure scoffed, "You want to bring honor in you death? You'll get none here! Crucio!" Draco's eyes glazed as wave upon waved of pain shot through him, he closed his eyes and clenched his jaw before the pain. He didn't cry out. The figure watched him in silence as he commanded his body not to move and not to cry out. _Death before dishonor._

"Once there was a girl," the voice started quiet this time, more human than before, and Draco instantly recognized it, even through his pain.

"She fell in love with a boy, a terribly rich boy. Some called him evil, mostly because of the rumors of his family, but this boy was extremely proud of his family, he said he would rather die then bring them pain or dishonor." Draco looked at the figure with dark eyes, willing her to continue the story, and at the same time cursing her with gray orbs that pierced deep within her. But she continued, " They would meet secretly, always in the cover of darkness. For their love betrayed all they had been and all that they were to come."

Draco's forehead wrinkled in pain, but not just physical pain. Pain from his heart.

He turned his whimper into a question, cursing himself and hopping with all his might it hadn't happened, "Why?"

"Why did they betray? Why did they meet when they knew it was wrong? Why didn't they turn away?" the figure raged at him. And it was all Draco could do but cry out, as the castor of the spell's anger flared, so did the pain of the curse. It became worse then before, and now Draco was shaking, trying desperately not to jerk and move. And then it lessened, not as harsh as before, but painful none the less.

"He did." the figure turned away, "he did push her away," and the figure turned back once more, lashing out at him, "'Death before dishonor!' That was his pitiful excuse. 'Death before dishonor'," and again pain flared up in him. And Draco fell to the floor, the pain was so great. His body shivered and shook.

The figure bent down, looking into his eyes, and Draco stared back into the shadow of the hood, not making out the face he knew to be there, "Where is your honor now?" and Draco didn't answer. And the pain rose again to incredible height, more painful then ever, "Where is you honor now! After all you had done to push her away! THIS! This is how you show your honor!" pain lashed at him, every where, Draco gasped.

Yes, he gasped. 

The figure scoffed, and stood, "Death before dishonor?" the figure kicked him, "DEATH BEFORE DISHONOR!" the figure threw back her hood to reveal the person within. 

Hermione Granger.

She stood there and anger emanated from her. War had done her wrong; she had scars on her face, her bushy hair was tangled and scraggly, of the skin that he could see was beaten and bruised. Her eyes burned with anger, and he felt like his heart had caught on fire and he was slowly burning up from the inside. She was no longer that innocent girl that he had fallen in love with so long ago, when the pain of his father's beatings and curses was all he had to deal with. No, her's was far worse and far more powerful, and because of her, his father lay dead. 

"After all you had done to push me away, to be honorable to your family; you couldn't even hold your honor to your death."

Eyes flashed, pain flared, and Draco was crying out in pain, tears streaming down his cheeks. Pleading for it all to end. Even the one's from Voldemort weren't as painful as this.

This was painful because it had been true love. It was painful because he had always done so hard to keep his honor. And then when you added love into it, the wall that had always held him up came crashing down. Crumbled in the blink of an eye.

"Draco, your death has been a dishonorable one." Were streaming down her cheeks, her once bright, chocolate eyes had become dulled with hate and pain over the years. This war had gone on far too long, not the War that had been raging for almost 5 years now, the one that left everything broken and people shattered, but the war with in his heart. The war between love or honor, the one that had been raging all his life. But in the end, he had gained neither, for his love had crushed his honor and he had nothing left.

"Hermione," it was the first time he had uttered her name in years, her name that he had howled again and again to the moon when his heart would throb in pain of loss of his loved one, the enemy, "Kill me,"

And she complied, tears streaming down her cheeks as she killed the one she had and still loved.

And Draco was no more. 


End file.
